


Englishtown

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Battle of Monmouth. Lafayette is wounded, Hamilton struggles to find his footing with Washington, Laurens is always in his corner. The series of events that lead up to the Laurens-Lee duel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely inspired by the musical, but I pulled in additional historical context (Lafayette's father-son relationship with Washington, more detail surrounding Lee's arrest). That being said, the historical accuracy is probably pretty abysmal. Consider it an imperfect blend of show and reality!

It's not until they’re back at their Village Inn headquarters that Hamilton notices Lafayette's been shot.

Lafayette himself doesn't realize until he dismounts his horse, hissing in pain and gripping the saddle for balance when his feet hit the ground. At first, Hamilton doesn't think much of it. With heads swimming and bodies aching from the soaring temperatures, they're all close to collapsing. The dead are nowhere near fully accounted for, but Hamilton knows the British aren't fully responsible for the loss of lives. The heat’s been just as lethal.

He's helping a stablehand with a bucket of water for his borrowed horse – his was lost in the chaos – when he sees Lafayette press a hand against his upper thigh, his eyes flashing with pain. His palm is dark red when he pulls his hand back.

“Hey,” Hamilton says, stepping forward and throwing Lafayette's arm over his shoulder, allowing his friend to take some weight off his injured leg. He wraps his arm around his waist, doing his best to hold him up even as his own body weakens. “Come on, we'll go inside.”

Their encampment, a mix of tents and borrowed rooms in the homes of villagers, is spread all over Englishtown. Thankfully, as Washington's staff, they've been treated to spots at the Inn. It's two or three to a room, but at least there are real beds and a roof.

Two of Washington's personal guards are at the front door – the General's inside, then. Hamilton hasn't had a chance to speak with him since he was sent ahead to scout Charles Lee's movements and was subsequently lost in the madness of the troops' retreat. He saw him briefly during the battle, singlehandedly inspiring his men to turn back and face the British – a true display of his celebrated larger-than-life image. But their paths haven't crossed since.

One of the guards leaves his post to help with Lafayette. As they pass the Inn's dining room – the spot Washington's been holding all his meetings since their arrival – Hamilton spots two more guards at the double doors.

“That's got to have something to do with Lee,” Hamilton says as soon as Lafayette's in bed and he's sent another aide after a medic.

“No doubt,” Lafayette agrees, his face twisted in pain. “Apparently they had quite the exchange when the General caught up to him on the field. I heard some of the others whispering about it on the way back.”

Hamilton lets out a low whistle and sits on the edge of Lafayette's bed, tearing some of the fabric away from his wound to get a closer look.

“I should go check up on him tonight,” Hamilton says. “He always wants me at his meetings. He just doesn't know we're back yet, probably.”

Lafayette chuckles and pushes his hands away. “You just want to be there when the General dismisses him. Don't touch me. Your hands are disgusting.”

Hamilton starts to object, but then he hears the sound of someone running down the hall. He only has time to exchange a concerned look with Lafayette before Laurens throws the door open and storms inside.

“Can you believe it?” Laurens is almost yelling, face flushed and body visibly quivering with excitement. “Lee's really fucked up now.”

Hamilton feels his chest tighten at the sight of his friend. It's a relief to see him in one piece – and bristling with more energy than he and Lafayette combined.

“Baylor just told me no one's seen him around camp,” Laurens says, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “He's either run off or he's meeting with General Washington now.”

Hamilton grins up at him from his spot on the edge of the bed. Behind closed doors, they both had quite a bit to say about Lee's promotion to second-in-command. More so than Lafayette who, far more secure in his relationship with Washington, was confident his time would come.

“I was shot, by the way,” Lafayette chimes in lightly. Laurens’ smile drops.

“He's going to be fine,” Hamilton says with a teasing eye roll. “He won’t let me look at it, but he didn’t even notice it until we got back! How bad can it be? It’s probably just a graze.”

“'Just a graze,'” Lafayette repeats skeptically. “Well,  _merci, doctuer_."

 

* * *

 

Of course, when the medic does arrive, he announces the bullet is still lodged in Lafayette's upper thigh. It'll require surgery, but there's no infection. It's expected to be a low-stakes, but painful, operation. Hamilton is pretty certain Lafayette will never let him live down his misdiagnosis, though.

With the operation scheduled for the next afternoon and Lafayette stable – if not a bit snippy – Hamilton returns to his shared room with Laurens and cleans up the best he can. It's nearly midnight, but late nights are far from uncommon among the aides, and he doubts Washington has gone to bed yet.

“Don't you think it's best to let him cool off tonight?” Laurens asks, seated at a small wooden desk where he's working on a letter to his father. “He's got to be livid. And you haven't exactly been the most soothing presence lately.”

Hamilton snorts as he shrugs on a fresh overcoat. Just about everyone knows he's been gunning for a promotion, but Laurens is the one he's vented to each time he’s been turned him down. He's the one who's helped Hamilton sort through all of his shortcomings, offering reassurances throughout. Laurens gets that it's a sore spot, especially now that the man Washington chose over him has, to put it lightly, failed.

“It's not like I'm going to go in there to gloat.”

Laurens, unconvinced, shoots him a skeptical  _I know you_ look, and Hamilton has to laugh.

“I'm not,” he promises.

“Well,” Laurens says, finishing his letter with a flourish and setting it aside to dry. “I think I'm going to stay in Lafayette's room tonight, just to keep an eye on him, you know? So that's where you'll find me when the General throws you out.”

“And to think I tell people you're my closest friend,” Hamilton says, mockingly incredulous, before stepping out and closing the door on Laurens' uproarious laughter.

The guards outside the dining room are gone, so Hamilton heads down the hallway to Washington's room, brushing lint off his clothes and taking a moment to rub his eyes in a fruitless effort to feel and look a little more awake. He's greeted by another one of Washington's personal guards at the door and is led through a bedroom and into a tiny attached office. There, they find Washington standing at his desk, sorting through stacks of papers.

“Mr. Hamilton's here to see you, sir.”

Washington's eyes lock with his and Hamilton immediately straightens up and juts his chin out. Washington's exhausted – that much is clear. Hamilton hardly spots a trace of the man he saw storming the battlefield earlier that morning.

Washington dismisses the guard with a soft “thank you," waiting until he closes the office door before letting his shoulders slump. A rare but barely noticeable moment of vulnerability that Hamilton has only witnessed a handful of times. 

He's not exactly susceptible to hero worship, but he respects Washington more than any other man he knows. Seeing him in this state is disheartening. 

"Do you need something, Alex?" Washington asks, pointing him to a chair on the opposite side of his desk before taking his own seat. He's a little caught off guard by the use of his first name. But it helps him relax. He drags his chair a bit closer to the desk and sits.

"I was coming to ask you the same thing, sir," Hamilton says. "I only just returned a few hours ago. With Lafayette and Laurens. I thought it might be best to reconvene tonight?"

"Yes," Washington says slowly, as if he hadn't considered it until now. He glances down at the papers littering his desk. "Thank you. But I don't think there's much for you to do right now. You saw combat today. Get some rest."

Hamilton's jaw clenches. He's perfectly capable - Washington knows this. He doesn't need to be coddled when it comes to war - it's almost like Washington's forgotten that the battlefield is where they met. Hamilton's an essential part of his staff - the most essential. He knows this. But he also knows he can do so much more for the revolution.

"Sir," he begins, carefully. "I know you're probably not...pleased. But I'm fine. Really."

"I wish you hadn't been involved. But I'm not angry," Washington says, hesitating a moment before adding, "I know that Lee's actions created a situation you couldn't easily turn your back to."

"No, sir." Hamilton pauses for a beat, recalling his confusion as he ran straight into Lee's retreating men. Remaining on the battlefield had been the only option. He's relieved Washington understands, but frustrated his heroism is being treated as a fluke.

But this is not the time to argue. He thinks Laurens would be proud, if not a bit bemused, by his tactfulness.

"Sir," he says, breaking the silence that's settled. Their conversation feels candid enough for this – he knows Washington will tell him if he's out of line. But he has to know. "Where is Lee?"

Washington's unfazed. Their relationship is turbulent at times, sure, but it's not without a thorough understanding of each other. The General's been waiting for this question since the moment he walked in, Hamilton thinks.

“Charles Lee is gone,” Washington says. “He was dismissed just a few hours ago. I'm calling for his arrest.”

Hamilton can't help but grin. He, Lafayette, and Laurens expected as much, but hearing it directly from Washington gives him a sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Well done, sir. Anything you need to help clean up his mess – you know that, if I were your second-in-command, I would –”

“Hamilton.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Washington carefully taps the edges of one of his paper piles, neatening it. “We'll have some work to sort through tomorrow. But tonight I think we both deserve to rest.”

Hamilton opens his mouth to object but Washington's already on his feet, crossing the floor to walk him out. It's a common tactic he uses to get Hamilton out of a room - Hamilton picked up on it immediately, but he hasn't come up with a way to fight it without coming across as blatantly unruly.  

Hamilton trails after him, resigned. He's about to wish Washington a good night when he remembers Lafayette. Washington doesn't know.

“Shot?” Washington repeats after he explains. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, regaining his composure. “And there's no infection?”

Lafayette may as well be Washington's flesh and blood. Washington treats them all like family but Lafayette, fatherless like Hamilton, is the one who's embraced his affections the most.

“He's entirely stable, sir,” Hamilton reassures him. “His surgery is scheduled for the afternoon.”

Washington shakes his head. “That's not soon enough. Let my physician know, he'll take care of it in the morning. Tell Dr. Craik to treat Lafayette as if he were treating my own son. What about you and Laurens?”

“We're both fine, sir. Perhaps still light-headed from the heat. But that's all.”

Washington looks him up and down and nods. "You boys always have access to any of my personal physicians. Whatever you need. All you have to do his ask."

"Thank you, sir," Hamilton says, smiling warmly.

He first experienced a sense of belonging when he met Laurens, Lafayette and Mulligan in that dusty New York City tavern, but the rush it gives him never grows old.

 


	2. Chapter Two

Their night off is short-lived. Hamilton's back at Washington's side by 6 a.m. the next morning, and they dive straight into work. 

By mid-morning, they've split three coffee pots and together drafted a 22-page account of the battle's events. By 11 a.m., Henry Knox and Nathanael Greene have been called in to revise and sign off on the narrative. By noon, Hamilton is proofing an unofficial compilation of the deceased.

He grinds his teeth as he reads the names of men he knew – shared a room with, trained beside at Valley Forge. Men who were powerless to do anything but blindly follow Lee's lead. There are nearly 200 names, and it's not even a complete list. Just as Hamilton suspected, the medics have blamed about 50 of the confirmed deaths on the heat. He places the reports on top of their record of the battle – he'll have to merge the two once the death toll is finalized – and flexes his cramped writing hand, watching Washington from across the room.

The General's been perfectly silent for an hour or so, grim as he reads and re-reads a letter, occasionally scribbling down notes and eventually writing and sealing a letter of his own. Hamilton's baffled. It certainly could be a letter to Martha. He's never penned a letter to Washington's wife in his place. But it doesn't fit Washington's formula – he always writes to Martha after the day's work is done, a glass of madeira nearby. Without explanation, Washington passes the envelope on to another aide for delivery.

“Sir?” Hamilton says once the aide has left the office. “I've finished up what I can of our report, let me take care of your letters.”

Washington looks up. Even as he's frowning, Hamilton still catches the warmth behind his dark brown eyes.

“I don't think I'll need you back here until we get the final body count this evening,” Washington says, folding the letter he's been guarding and placing it inside a desk drawer. “Go pay Lafayette a visit for me, and be back by five.”

Lafayette's surgery will be over now – Hamilton knows Laurens, dismissed from work for the day, stayed with him throughout. His friends will be waiting for him.

“Why not come with me, sir?” Hamilton prods, hoping Washington bites. “And get out of this room? I'm sure Lafayette will want to see you.”

“I have a few personal matters I need to take care of – on my own, Alexander,” he adds when Hamilton starts to speak up. “Give Lafayette my best and tell him I'll be around to see him within the week.”

* * *

“He's exchanging letters with someone in secret!” Hamilton pouts, pacing. “And right in front of me, too!”

Lafayette, sitting upright with a pillow behind his back, exchanges a private look with Laurens. They're both holding back laughter.

“ _What?”_ Hamilton says, stopping in the center of the room and crossing his arms, defensive.

“You're acting like his wife, not his aide,” Laurens explains helpfully.

Lafayette shakes his head, grinning. “Even Mrs. Washington wouldn't – ”

“OK, that's enough!” Hamilton interjects, shooting Lafayette a look. “I'm glad  _you're_ feeling better.”

The surgery did go off without a hitch – Hamilton had allowed his friends to explain that much. It'll be some time before Lafayette can put weight on his injured leg, but the bullet's been removed and there's a minimal risk of infection – that's the most important part.

Lafayette composes himself and points to a chair next to Laurens, who's still snickering to himself. Hamilton sits down with a huff.

“Alex, we're at war. You can't expect to be in the know every time General Washington makes a move,” Lafayette says. “He can't tell us everything.”

Laurens stops laughing. Hamilton can feel his friend's eyes on him, waiting.

“He used to trust me with everything. When I was first hired,” Hamilton says, finally. “If he doesn't want me in combat, that's one thing, but now he's not even letting me do my  _job?_ ”

“OK, that's a little dramatic,” Laurens says, silencing Hamilton with a raised hand. “Your job is to do as he says. Notice you were the only aide working in-office this morning. The rest were running around writing field reports. He still needs you, Alex.”

Lafayette nods. “Don't let this mess with Lee get to your head.”

He's thankful for his friends' reassurances, but he’s unconvinced. He knows in their eyes his fears come across as irrational – he might seem paranoid, even. But the mere thought of falling out of the graces of the man who holds his career in his hands – the man who welcomed him into his military family when he had no family to speak of – that terrifies him.

Hamilton forces a smile in lieu of a response. Laurens is frowning at him. He reaches over and slaps Laurens' thigh, letting his hand rest on his friend's knee and squeezing.

* * *

Lafayette demands an uninterrupted nap, so Laurens tags along when it's time for Hamilton to head back to Washington's office. He's uncharacteristically quiet. Hamilton can sense he's worried. He almost wishes he'd kept Washington's secret letter to himself. Laurens is loyal, protective and sensitive in many areas – often carrying the weight of Hamilton's insecurities. Hamilton forgets this when he speaks, sometimes.

"No one's posted outside Washington's door," Laurens says as they make their way down the dusty hallway. 

Hamilton picks up his pace and they walk unescorted into Washington's office. His anxiety is fleeting - he's hit with a wave of relief when they find the General having a hushed conversation with the captain of his guard, Caleb Gibbs, a tall and somewhat intimidating man only a few years Hamilton's senior. Hamilton has shared more than a few drinks with him, harmlessly poked fun at Washington with him. But now, Gibbs falls silent when he sees him with Laurens.

“Sir,” Gibbs says, nodding in their direction. Washington turns to see them, wincing. He's annoyed.

“Hamilton.”

“You said to be back by five, sir,” Hamilton says, feeling Laurens tense at his side. He tries to be agreeable. “We...we can come back.”

Washington looks back at Gibbs, waits a beat, and shakes his head. “No, I think we're done here. Thank you, Captain.”

Gibbs salutes him and briskly walks out of the room, closing the door without giving Hamilton a second look.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Laurens asks, and Hamilton's grateful Laurens is the one speaking up. He's not sure how the question would go over, coming from him.

Washington looks between them and sighs, waving them over to two chairs. Hamilton follows Laurens' lead and Washington sits on the edge of his desk, looking down at them, his expression unreadable. 

“I'm begging you both not to overreact,” Washington says. And there it is, Hamilton can see it – a hint of a tired smile. Hamilton smiles back.

“Starting tonight, my personal guard...they'll have more of a presence. I've been in communication with Lee. There haven't been any direct threats, but Gibbs thought it best to act now as we sort out the terms of Lee's arrest.”

Hamilton's face falls. He's at a loss for words - for once. Washington beats him to it. 

“I didn't want to tell you too much until I knew how we were going to deal with him,” Washington explains. He's needlessly apologetic – Hamilton gets it. Truly, he's just relieved there was no underlying reason for Washington shutting him out. But now they're facing a frightening problem.

“But you're not in any danger?” Laurens asks, glancing at Hamilton and then back at Washington. “It's all just a precaution?”

“Absolutely, John,” Washington says, his voice gentle. “Lee's unhappy with me, but that's to be expected. The letters are private. Right now, there's no reason for any of us to be too concerned. Just alert."

“Where will the guards be?” Hamilton asks.

“At my door and every entrance to the Inn, as usual. More throughout the halls, to look after the rest of the staff. They’ll be keeping a better eye on the encampment borders, too,” Washington says.

Hamilton nods, satisfied. “Anything you need me – or Laurens – to do, sir, just say the word. We’ll take care of it.”

Washington actually laughs – rather loudly. Laurens twitches in his seat and inhales sharply. Hamilton bites into his lip to keep from cackling.

“I think,” Washington says, standing. “For now, it’s best for the two of you to do nothing.”

 _For now._ Hamilton mulls over the words. Laurens’ dark eyes flicker over to meet his. For now.

* * *

The next day is quite an embarrassment for Washington’s esteemed personal guard. Hamilton is finalizing Lee’s charges – disobedience, a shameful retreat, disrespecting Washington – when they receive a report of an intruder along the tree line north of their encampment. Hamilton immediately locks the office door and insists Washington, clearly irked but otherwise untroubled by the entire ordeal, stand away from the windows. When a pockmarked young recruit sheepishly tells them the intruder was a black bear, Washington slams his hand down on his desk so hard both Hamilton and the new guard and jump.

“These are the men you trust with your life?” Hamilton asks when the terrified boy leaves and Washington’s rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“At least they’re alert,” Washington says, always so diplomatic. But he’s scowling.

“Let’s just be thankful Lee is hardly a threat, sir.”

“He’s certainly proved that much already,” Washington mutters under his breath. Hamilton grins and makes a mental note to tell Laurens and Lafayette about this exchange later.

* * *

He’s writing to Eliza one quiet afternoon, alone for what feels like the first time in months, when Laurens walks in unannounced and drops a newspaper on his desk.

There they are – the letters Washington exchanged with Charles Lee, reprinted. And, of course, an article written by Lee himself, defending his own actions and dragging Washington. True to form.

“We’re not letting this go,” Laurens says, face flushed, jaw set. “You have to convince him to let us write a response.”

* * *

Hamilton, clutching the paper at his side, finds Washington sitting next to Lafayette’s bed – it’s the first time he’s seen the General outside his office in days. Their hands are linked and resting on Lafayette’s shoulder – a gesture Hamilton would usually find out of place for Washington. But for the two of them, it seems natural.

“I’m sorry,” Hamilton says, mostly to Lafayette. He knows his friend has been waiting for Washington’s visit. “This is urgent.”

Washington lets go of Lafayette’s hand and squeezes his shoulder.

“I already know,” he says, turning to face Hamilton. Lafayette’s resigned frown shows he’s heard, too. “There’s nothing we can do about this now.”

Hamilton barks out a laugh and waves the newspaper at Washington. He’s definitely going to get in trouble for this. Lafayette is staring at him.

“Nothing we can do? I can write a rebuttal!” Hamilton says. He opens the article and reads from it.  _“‘Does he really think his Excellency a great man; or whether evidences could not be produced of his sentiments being quite the reverse?’”_ He flips the page.  _“‘Whether it is dangerous … to encourage in the people an idea that their welfare, safety and glory depend on one man?’_  Sir, you can’t let him say this!”

Lafayette props himself up against his headboard and rolls the stiffness out of his shoulders. “Sir, Hamilton is right. He’s perhaps not going about this in a very…gentlemanly manner. But I suggest you defend your honor, as I told you earlier.”

Hamilton points at Lafayette and cocks an eyebrow at Washington, waiting for his response.

“You both are very young,” Washington says, steady and calm. “But you have to understand this isn’t unfamiliar to me. I’ve dealt with this for as long as I’ve been in the public eye. Now, I know this is personal for you, with Lee – ”

“This is not about my rank, sir,” Hamilton interrupts. And he means that. “This is about your dignity.”

Washington pauses at that. Hamilton doesn’t break eye contact. He needs him to know it’s true.

“And I would like to preserve my dignity by not coming across as a child slinging mud,” he says. “This will catch up to Lee when the charges are officially filed and he’s subjected to a fair trial. Now, are we done here, Hamilton?”

“Sir,” Hamilton pleads, hating how helpless he sounds. This might be commonplace for Washington. But for Hamilton, who has lived most of his life feeling entirely insignificant, it stings. He harbors Lee’s insults, even though they aren’t directed at him. Washington is the patriarch of his military family. It’s personal enough, now.

“Alexander, don’t do a thing,” Washington warns. “That’s an order.”

Hamilton’s shoulders sink. He looks to Lafayette – his friend’s face twisted in an expression of both sympathy and maybe mild embarrassment. Hamilton feels like the room is shrinking. He turns on his heel and marches out without another word, the newspaper now crumbled in his hands, his mind reeling, searching for a solution.

He walks in on Laurens scribbling furiously at their shared desk.

“I already have a draft ready – well, maybe half of one,” Laurens says, jumping up to greet Hamilton, eyes flickering, eager to get started. “You could do much better, but – ”

“We can’t publish anything,” Hamilton says, placing a hand on his chest to silence him. “Washington shot me down.”

“But – ”

“There might be a way around this,” Hamilton explains. “If you’re willing to take a risk.”

“Anything for General Washington,” Laurens says instantly. He knows. “And anything for you.”

* * *

It happens two months after the duel. Hamilton’s been spending his days wandering New York City aimlessly, lost in his own thoughts, writing Laurens almost daily for updates. He’s trying to treasure this time with his pregnant wife. But he can’t stop replaying his mistakes, over and over again, in his mind.  That’s what they were – mistakes. Nothing good came from his choices. He lost his position – he lost some of the only people who cared about him. He has to hold on, though. For Eliza and their child.

He finds her one evening at their tiny dining room table, dark hair draped over her shoulder, eyes scanning a letter opened in front of her.

“From the General,” Eliza says softly, looking up when Hamilton walks into the room. “To you, Alexander.”

She brushes her fingers against the small swell of her stomach, watching him. She passes the letter over, struggling to keep her expression neutral. But Alexander sees it – her sad eyes tell another story. He sits next to her, takes her hand, and everything changes.       

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'd love to write more for this fandom, so any feedback, prompts, etc., feel free to leave in the comments!


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